


Choose Your Faces Wisely

by broken_ankle, JadeTyle



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Community: Do It With Style Events, Gen, Minor Character Death, Nimona AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shapeshifter Warlock, Temporary Character Death, Villain Crowley, Violence, Warnings May Change, hero Aziraphale, the violence is canon-typical for Nimona
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29018838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broken_ankle/pseuds/broken_ankle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeTyle/pseuds/JadeTyle
Summary: In a world where magic and science co-exist and mythological creatures are real, a Villain of the Realm prone to dramatics has always been foiled by his righteous nemesis, locked in a dance that's been going on for years. Things change when a young shapeshifter convinces the villain he needs a sidekick. The rituals he's lived by for so long can no longer guide his actions, and his mission for exposing the Institution for Heroics and Law Enforcement mixes with the secrets in his sidekick's past and his own complicated feelings for his nemesis. Taking down a corrupt government has never been so stressful.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Extinct Animals Are Still Kicking

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't exist without the wonderful art Tyle drew for claims. Working with him has been a blast, and I couldn't have asked for a better plotting partner! Crowley's experiments come from his mind, so any complaints for lungs you busted laughing need to be addressed to him.
> 
> Many thanks to [Mima_Merryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pasta_Muffin) for the invaluable help in making Crowley's arm accurate!
> 
> Both Tyle and I would like to thank the mods of the Do It With Style Events community for organizing this Reverse Bang! You guys are great!
> 
> You can find Tyle on [Tumblr](https://jadetyle.tumblr.com/), me on [Tumblr](https://iwouldliketobewriting.tumblr.com) and, of course, the DIWS events on [Tumblr](https://do-it-with-style-events.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Warnings for the single chapters will be in the author notes at the beginning of each one. General warnings for violence and a corrupt law enforcement agency.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley finds someone he wasn't expecting. A dinosaur may or may not be involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter can be found on Tyle's Tumblr [here](https://jadetyle.tumblr.com/post/641709806167703552/choose-your-faces-wisely-a-nimona-au-but-im-a). Go shower him with the praise he deserves!
> 
> Warnings for mentions of genetic experiments on animal embryos (not human).

Crowley wasn’t expecting anything out of the usual to happen today. Just go to the lab, check on the plants, check on the experiments, talk to the plants and maybe–if he really got lucky–turn the television on to a program that didn’t feature Aziraphale’s name or face anywhere in it. As he’d been quiet for a couple of weeks working on his genetic experiments, he’d figured there was at least a small chance of turning on the news and seeing nothing about Sir Aziraphale, righteous Hero of the Realm.

Crowley wasn’t expecting anything out of the usual, then, which was why he was understandingly surprised when, upon entering his lab, he found himself face-to-face with a boy who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Nobody ever entered his lair, least of all his lab. The delivery people–when he'd still foolishly thought that he could've been done in time for the expenses not to make a considerable dent in his finances–had always stopped at the gate, never even set foot into the garden. And Crowley had never had guests around, so the intruder's presence was indeed strange and unexpected.

“Who are you?” Crowley asked in his best booming voice, which never had an effect on anyone, but you never knew. “How did you get in here?”

The boy didn’t seem impressed by Crowley’s voice. “Hey, boss!” he cheerfully said, sauntering closer to shake the villain’s hand. “I’m Warlock.” He looked down and then back up, following the arm up to the shoulder. Everyone was always thrown by the decidedly not skin-like texture of the hand. Crowley had experimented with polymers, back when the Institution-issued arm–they were corrupt, yes, but they at least took care of workplace accidents–had been an unavoidable reminder of times past and fresh betrayals, but in the end he'd decided that if people didn't like it, that was their problem. “Uh. Cool arm.”

Crowley had to admit that flattery was nice–he _had_ designed the arm himself, after all–but it still didn’t excuse the unexplainable presence of someone else in his impenetrable lair.

“Why are you here?” he demanded. Warlock didn’t seem impressed.

The boy proudly pointed a thumb to his own chest. “The Agency sent me. I’m your new sidekick.”

That made no sense. “That makes no sense,” Crowley said. “Why would the Agency send me an adolescent as a sidekick?”

Warlock flitted back towards the vats with the modified unicorn embryos he’d been standing around when Crowley had entered the lab. “They said you need to update your look, appeal to today’s youth,” he shrugged.

Crowley took offense at that. Alright, it was possible that he was a bit too old-fashioned in his methods, what with the mythological creatures and the big, flashy gadgets, but he appealed to today’s youth just the same, thank you very much. It wasn’t the method that made the villain, it was the righteous nemesis.

And even if the kid was right, that wasn’t really the style of the Agency anyway. They usually sent a two-week notice before trying to saddle Crowley with a sidekick who’d get paid off faster than they could take service.

“Where’s the letter?” he asked the boy.

“Letter?” Warlock echoed, still distracted by the unicorns.

“The letter from the Agency. If the Agency sent you, where’s the letter?”

Warlock looked back at him, opened his mouth and closed it again. Crowley waited with an arched brow and crossed arms.

“Alright, the Agency didn’t send me,” the boy admitted at last.

“I knew it!” Crowley crowed, but Warlock ignored him.

“But I’m a huge fan of your work! You’re Anthony J. Crowley, the biggest name in supervillainy in the world! You’re an inspiration!”

Crowley pried Warlock from where he’d scaled his cape, probably to talk to him face-to-face. He'd only succeeded in hanging from a shoulder, though, and he was heavier than he looked. Seriously, way heavier than he looked. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, kid,” he said, though it was nice to be recognized for his work, always foiled as it was. “I work alone.”

“Oh, come on!” Warlock whined, arms extended in a complex gesture that could have been pleading or irritated, Crowley wasn’t sure. “Everyone has a sidekick these days!”

Crowley didn’t seem fit to mention that the sidekick usually didn’t last much, as didn’t their villain. Not in their realm, at least. The Institution saw to that. “Well, I can’t have a kid following me around all day,” he said, already walking away to check on his plants.

“I’m not a kid,” he heard Warlock sulk from behind him. “I’m a dinosaur!”

Crowley would never in a million years admit he screamed when he found himself faced with a human-sized stegosaur.

Villain and–very prehistoric, very _extinct_ –animal stared at each other.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention,” the stegosaur said in Warlock’s voice. “I’m a shapeshifter.”

Crowley huffed to hide his wildly-beating heart and took a moment to adjust the glasses that had had the decency not to slide far enough as to expose his eyes. He would’ve hated to replace another sub-par pair. “That would’ve been nice to know before the heart attack,” he grumbled. When he looked back up, Warlock was looking back at him, no dinosaurs in sight.

Crowley made a show of sighing deeply, but he had to admit, the shapeshifting would be a nice trick to have at his disposal. And he liked the kid’s attitude despite himself. Warlock certainly had the enthusiasm and the flair for the dramatic that'd help him in a villain career, but his deception skills could use a bit of work. You couldn't get and keep a nemesis without deceiving them a little bit.

“Alright,” he said. “I suppose that could come in handy.” He extended a hand to the boy. “Congratulations, you’re hired.”

Warlock forwent the handshake to once again just dangle from Crowley’s neck.


	2. Drawn Plans and Past Incidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley shows Warlock his plans. Somehow, the conversation ends on a jousting accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyle did it again! Check out their stunning art [here](https://jadetyle.tumblr.com/post/642798153302736896/choose-your-faces-wisely-a-nimona-au-chapter-2)!
> 
> Tyle and I have decided that this fic will update every other Wednesday except in case of unforeseeable circumstances. It's a timeframe that works well for both of us.
> 
> Warnings for blood, eye injury and dismemberment in the art, mentions of the same in the fic, mentions of genetically modified animals.

Warlock was following him, which actually made sense. Crowley had really been without help for a long time, if having someone else moving around on his own two legs was jarring.

“Are these plans?” the boy asked when they stopped in front of the drafting table. It wasn’t really a drafting table, more like a kitchen table Crowley had dragged into the drafting room because it was too big for him to eat alone at. The drafting room wasn’t really a drafting room either, just a big room. You needed space to explain your plan when you had henchmen, after all.

Crowley had thought about removing the table and repurposing the room, but then he had considered that there was not much he could do with it anyway. Furthermore, having a room to make plans in helped him not to ruin said plans by spilling acid on them. Not that it had ever happened—well, not for a couple of months, anyway.

Crowley took the topmost sheet of paper from all the ones strewn over the table and unfolded it, displaying the detailed and illustrated plan it contained.

“This is my plan, yes,” he replied.

“Why do you illustrate them?” Warlock asked, studying the paper with rapt attention.

“I’m trying to learn how to draw,” Crowley explained. It wasn’t going well, maybe because he didn’t have that much time to dedicate to it and, well, using a sword required less fine motor skills than using a pencil.

“How is it going?”

Crowley looked sharply at the boy, but he was still focused on the plan. It didn’t seem like he knew what he had asked, and the tone hadn’t been mocking, but—

He shook his head. He’d been alone for far too much. That was all. Everything was an accusation if one wasn’t used to casual remarks.

“Anyway,” Crowley began, “this is what we’ll do.” He pointed to the first picture on the paper, a frankly embarrassing drawing of the king’s castle in the centre of the city. “In two days King Metatron will hold a ball in the palace. My team of genetically modified unicorns will storm the palace and kidnap the king. We will be here,” he tapped another drawing, this time of the biggest park in the capital, “where I’ll announce our ransom demands. Then we’ll detonate the dam in the park pond and escape on the unicorns in the ensuing confusion.”

Warlock didn’t seem properly impressed by Crowle’s genius plan. He tried not to take it to heart, but after talking to plants for the better part of a year he really wanted to impress the first living person to speak to him as anything other than the villain they were sent to apprehend.

“I like your plan,” the boy said, stealing a red marker from the cluttered corner of the table where Crowley kept them. “The explosion is a nice touch, but I think it’s missing something.”

Crowley watched in horror as Warlock bent over his carefully drawn plan and covered it in squiggly overlapping lines.

“You see, we could use more chaos.” He drew flames all over the paper. “Fires everywhere, another explosion or two, rampages in a couple more parts of the cities, that kind of thing. And we can kill the king, so you’ll crown yourself the new king in front of everyone.” He then drew a stick figure with a sword and a mantle held in the maw of a massive dragon. “And since Aziraphale is guaranteed to try to stop us, I’ll change myself to sneak close to him and kill him. That way nobody will be able to defeat us.”

Crowley took a deep breath, then another. Then he drew a third because the first two hadn’t been the sigh he had been aiming for, and he took the marker from Warlock’s hand. “Absolutely not!” he exclaimed, outraged that the boy could even think—

“Why not?” Warlock asked. He seemed genuinely uncomprehending of the gravity of what he’d just suggested.

Murdering the king! How was Crowley supposed to—

“There are rules, Warlock!” Crowley said maybe much more forcefully than warranted. “You can’t just kill people because you think it’s entertaining!”

“I don’t want to kill people because it’s entertaining!” the boy replied matching him tone for tone. “We’d send a message! You’re a villain, you shouldn’t care about breaking rules! And I thought that killing Aziraphale was what you wanted! He’s always ruining your plans!”

Crowley stiffened at that. Killing the king–as out there and haphazard and _dangerous_ and _hare-brained_ as it was–was one thing, but Aziraphale—

There was no way that Crowley would let anyone else do it.

“If there’s one person who will kill Aziraphale,” he said, his voice a low and forbidding hiss, “that’s me. No one else.”

“Is there a story there?” Warlock asked, his expression curious.

Crowley almost laughed. Was there a story there? Understatement. It was _the_ story, Crowley’s story. Aziraphale had been his North Star, once. He had been the only fixed point in the hectic life of an orphan, alone and lost in the world.

“We were both heroes in training, once.” As if that could even begin to cover everything they’d been for each other, every time Crowley had watched Aziraphale hang a stocking at the foot of his bed and wait anxiously for presents everyone knew would never arrive, every time they had sneaked out after training, every time they’d—

Aziraphale was the one who had wanted to try out for the hero training program, and Crowley had followed him like a sailor the North Star. But like every star he’d burnt bright and fierce, and Crowley—

Well, Crowley had always hated Icarus’ story. It always hit too close to home.

“We were the most promising recruits the Institution had ever seen,” he forced himself to continue. There was no sense in lingering on the past. It was just that: past. Long gone. Another life. “Until the day of the joust, that is.” The joust, right. How could he ever forget? The sun on the back of his head, almost boiling him alive in his black armour, the laughter before being called for their turn, the quiet “Good luck,” exchanged with Aziraphale before everything had gone south. “We’d never been pitted against each other before,” Crowley continued, and hadn’t that been a surprise, welcome because it meant that finally one of them would be promoted. “I won, fair and square. He was out of his saddle and on the ground at the first passage. But Aziraphale has never been able to lose.” Crowley’s hand went to his right arm almost involuntarily. He remembered the pain, how could he ever forget? It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, that pain. The arm, of course, truncated just below the shoulder, but the hip too, and the eye… The doctors had told him that he’d been lucky, but he’d not believed them. In the moment, he could not have. “I don’t know what happened, it was too fast. One moment I was on my horse, and the next I was looking at the sky. He always maintained that it’d been an accident, and everyone believed him.” He had known different, he _knew_ different, but Aziraphale had always been the innocent recruit, the one capable of no wrong. He took a moment to look down at his arm. “The Institution didn’t know what to do with a hero with only an arm, so I chose the next best career.”

“What?” Crowley looked back at Warlock. He had almost forgotten about the boy, too caught up in the past. “They threw you out because of his temper tantrum? That’s not fair! They trapped you in a system where you can’t win because he couldn’t lose!”

The villain almost smiled. It was nice knowing that someone cared, as late and removed from the original moment as the kid was. Still, that was not the point.

“The point isn’t winning, Warlock,” Crowley said. He picked the sheet of paper with the plan from the table and busied himself with rolling it up. “I’m simply proving a point.” Yeah, right. A point. He was just an irritated former employee who wanted to prove a point to those who’d thrown him aside as soon as they felt they didn’t need him anymore. Just proving a point.

And the point was—The point was that a marketable image wasn’t everything.

Maybe he should try with dolphins, next time. People liked dolphins. Maybe they’d listen to him if he used dolphins. Pity they weren’t land animals.

“You don’t need to prove a point,” Warlock pressed, and his tone wasn’t friendly at all. “You need to destroy them.”

The nape of Crowley’s neck prickled at the boy’s voice. “As I said, I’m playing by the rules, Warlock. They’re just not their rules. They’re mine.”

The boy didn’t speak for a couple of minutes. When he moved near Crowley, the villain almost expected another outburst. What he got was Warlock hesitating and then nudging his right elbow.

“If it makes you feel better,” the boy said, way more meekly than his last intervent, “I think your arm is cool.”

Crowley smiled. “Thanks, kid.”


	3. Bloody Ferns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they infiltrate one of the Institution's laboratories, Warlock and Crowley are ambushed by the villain's oldest acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at Tyle's [art](https://jadetyle.tumblr.com/post/644520485902843904/choose-your-faces-wisely-a-nimona-au-chapter-3)! Look! It's gorgeus! Go show them your love!
> 
> Warnings for blood and corpses in the art. For the fic, warnings for blood, death of unnamed minor characters, perceived death of major character, explosions, mentions of poison.

The door slid open, and Crowley once again thanked his lucky star thet the Institution tended to recycle the same access codes they’d had when he himself had worked for them.

Massive security overlook, but it was not as if he’d ever tell them that.

And anyway, the system, as it was, seemed to be built not to hinder him.

Well, at the very least it seemed like he always had some loophole to exploit.

Crowley liked to think he was clever–and he knew he was, that was not the issue–but the Institution weren’t dumb. Or not as dumb as always finding a backdoor open made them appear.

The game had to go on, after all. _Panem et circenses_ and all that.

“You know that I could’ve entered, taken whatever it is we’re looking for and escaped in under ten minutes, right?” Warlock remarked as they entered Experiment Room 11.

Crowley didn’t look at him. There wasn’t time for social pleasantries. He— _Guards_ could arrive at any moment. They needed to be quick.

“Consider this a test run,” he answered the boy. “I don’t yet know how you move or what you can actually do.”

Warlock pouted, and he sulked up to the table in the middle of the room, where a consistent number of vials full of a greenish liquid lay.

Crowley walked to the corner of the room, examining the ferns in the room-sized greenhouse with a grimace. Ferns. So last decade. The future was in plants from this geological era. But alas, he needed to know what the Institution was working on, if he were to—

Warlock’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

Crowley turned around only to see him tapping a finger to one of the biggest vials. “Don’t touch that!” he snapped, perhaps a touch too harshly. “Those substances are highly volatile,” he went on. “ _And_ poisonous.” Bloody ferns. There was a reason that the scientific community had moved on pretty quickly from them. Too much hassle, not enough results.

Warlock retracted the hand, but he looked at the table with even more fascination. Great. A fern-loving sidekick.

“Come on,” Crowley said, finally abandoning the greenhouse to actually search for what they were there for. “Help me look.”  
“If you’d tell me what you’re looking for, I could do that,” Warlock cheekily replied. As if Crowley hadn’t already explained. Twice. The second time with pictures.

“I told you—”

The door slid open again.

Crowley’s scalp prickled even before the voice, _that_ voice, spoke from behind him.

“Unhand that science, villain!”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed, turning to look at his nemesis. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Why are you surprised?” Warlock asked. “Isn’t this what always happens?”  
Crowley sighed. Novice. Theatrics were half of the work, when you were a villain.

If you were a hero, too, but those were much more righteous and appreciated by the general population.

“It’s—”

“One of those rules you were talking about?” Warlock interrupted and, uh, maybe he wasn’t so hopeless after all.

“Rituals,” Crowley corrected. “But yes, indeed.”

“I see you have a squire,” Aziraphale remarked. He had always been good at ignoring interruptions. And a few other things that had landed Crowley in trouble, but that was not the time to fall down a meaning-of-life rabbit hole.

“Right. Angel, this is Warlock, my _sidekick_ ,” the villain stressed. Introducing your helpers–whether they were mercenaries, sidekicks or bloody squires–was one of the rules, after all. If you were the villain, that is. That meant giving the hero the advantage of knowing their adversaries, and it wouldn’t do to have the hero on the same level as their nemesis, now, would it?

“Can I kill him now?” Warlock said, and he actually looked ready to disembowel Aziraphale right then and there.

Or whatever a stegosaurus did to kill people. Crowley had never been big on zoology.

“No,” he said. “We talked about this.”

“Fine,” the boy pouted.

Aziraphale pointedly cleared his throat. Leave it to him to treat a death threat from a teenager as a casual disturbance in the flow of the conversation.

Then again, the death threat from a teenager had been a disturbance in the flow of the conversation. There was a reason both hero and villain could exactly predict the outcome of any situation involving one of Crowley’s plans, after all. Right now, it seemed like he wouldn’t get what he’d come here for, but a duel with subsequent escape in the nick of time while shaking a fist in the air was certainly on the horizon.

“He’s certainly...charming,” Aziraphale offered, and Crowley scoffed.

Charming? Death threats were charming?

“Really, Angel? Charming?”

The hero produced himself in the prim impression of a ruffled great horned owl. Crowley smirked. Riling him up was always fun. Not really villain-appropriated behaviour–that consisted more of taunts and mockings–but fun and therefore part of the rituals. Not the rules, those were more noble.

“I’ll have you know that charming has been used for many centuries in many contexts,” Aziraphale said, stiffly, and that’s how Crowley knew he had touched a nerve. Not that he really needed a confirmation, not after all those years, but still. It was nice to know that he always could unsettle the righteous and stalwart Hero of the Realm.

The door slid open again.

Crowley barely managed to repress a sigh at the sight of three soldiers, swords out and at the ready. What a cliché, really. And he was the king of clichés, he would know.

“Halt, you villain!” the woman leading the group demanded. “You’re outnumbered!”

“This is under control,” Aziraphale said, tightly, to her.

“Don’t worry, boss!” Warlock exclaimed. “I’ve got this!”

Before Crowley could even think about stopping him, the boy was already running towards the soldiers. Half-way there he leapt forward, and before he touched the ground again he was a grey wolf, growling loudly and pouncing on the nearest of the soldiers.

The man was lifeless on the ground before anyone could react, but by the time Warlock turned his bloodied maw on the other two, everyone but Crowley had their swords in front of them.

“Warlock, don’t!” the villain called, but a soldier was already attacking.

Crowley surged forward, but there was no reason for that. Warlock changed again, this time into a little boy, eyes wide and lower lip trembling in the face of an armed attack from an armoured adult.

The soldier faltered for a moment, half of a question in the air, and that was all it took.

Warlock was behind him in an instant, taking the soldier’s own knife from his side and stabbing him in the back.

The last soldier, the woman that had seemed to lead the trio, looked at the boy with wide eyes and–rather wisely, in Crowley’s opinion–turned tail and ran.

“Warlock, don’t!” Crowley called again when his sidekick, back to his usual appearance, made to follow her.

“She’ll raise the alarm, boss!” he replied. There was a dangerous air about him, something more than the literal blood on his hands and around his mouth, more than his eyes, feverish with the thrill of the chase.

Just who had Crowley—

An alarm began screaming from deeper inside the building.

Warlock made a gesture between a roll of his eyes and a scrolling of his shoulders. “He raised the alarm, boss,” he provided, mockingly, before running after the surviving soldier.

“Warlock! Come back here!” Crowley called, but he was stopped by a sword in front of his chest. He followed the weapon to see Aziraphale’s face, not smirking–Aziraphale would never smirk, it was way beneath him–but as near as it could go. For a moment, Crowley had forgotten he was there too.

“Where do you think you are going, villain?” the hero said, inflection changing it into a question only out of courtesy. “My job is to stop you.”

Crowley almost rolled his eyes, but that was not the time. “Do you want my sidekick to kill someone else?” he snapped. “Because that’s what will happen if I don’t stop him!”

“My job is to stop you,” Aziraphale repeated, and, really, Crowley should’ve expected it. He expected it, in fact–Aziraphale was nothing if not predictable–but there were things, _situations_ , past rules, past rituals.

A sidekick on a murderous rampage was one of those situations.

“I don’t have time for games, Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped. “Let me pass.”

Aziraphale’s expression flickered, just an instant, but it was enough. Every mention of games, of rules, had always meant that reaction from him. Doubt, born and dead in less time than it took an eye to blink, but enough for Crowley to see. Always enough for Crowley to see, even after all those years spent on different sides.

Crowley had always been able to read Aziraphale, even when Aziraphale himself couldn’t.

And vice versa, but if Aziraphale knew what Crowley really wanted to accomplish with his stint in villainity he hadn’t talked.

Nobody was really out for Crowley’s head, after all.

Not yet.

But that would mean acknowledging the system, and that wasn’t something Aziraphale was going to do.

“Come on, Anthony. Fight with me,” Aziraphale requested, and Crowley knew there was only one way to get to Warlock in time to avoid even more bloodshed.

Crowley unsheathed his sword.

Crowley was a good swordsman, that much he had retained from his time as a knight recruit, but Aziraphale was better.

He was better, and yet he always left his blows wide enough for Crowley to evade or parry.

“This is how things should go,” Aziraphale said as they once again separated their blades. “You and me, duelling. We’ve not done that since you tried to kidnap the king’s daughter.”

He hadn’t tried to kidnap her. He had just entered the wrong room in the palace, that was all. How should he have known that window was the one to her chambers?

“I don’t have time for this!” Crowley hissed as they once again got in each other’s face. “Warlock will kill someone if I don’t get to him right now! Is that what you want?”

He saw Aziraphale’s expression flicker again, but that was not the time to think about it. Not locked in combat with him, shackled by a duel and self-imposed rules together with that. He could—

No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t break his own rules. Nobody cared about them, except for him.

What was the use of a villain if they didn’t follow the rules? If they really were unpredictable? If you didn’t know what they wanted?

There was only one reason why the Institution had let Crowley be for all that time.

Rules. Rituals.

Aziraphale.

“Why did you take a sidekick anyway?” the hero asked as their swords clanged together once again. “You’ve always worked alone.”

“Apart from the henchmen the Institution paid off?” Crowley replied.

“Your henchmen left because they recognized the futility of working for a villain. They—”

_THIS LABORATORY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN TEN MINUTES. PLEASE PROCEED TO THE NEAREST EXIT IN AN ORDERLY FASHION._

Villain and hero looked at each other for a moment, and then Crowley started in the direction Warlock had run off in, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“We need to get out of here!” Aziraphale shouted over the alarm.

“I have to find Warlock!” Crowley shouted back, but the hero didn’t budge.

“It’s too late now.” To his credit, he looked genuinely sorry. Under the imperturbable mask of righteousness, of course. That, and urgency. Fear too, maybe? Flashing lights were never useful when trying to decipher an expression.

“I know where an exit is,” Aziraphale continued. “Follow me!”

Crowley looked at the corridor Warlock had run into for a moment more, but then he turned and followed Aziraphale.

_THIS LABORATORY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN THREE MINUTES. PLEASE PROCEED TO THE NEAREST EXIT IN AN ORDERLY FASHION._

“Are you sure this is the way?” Crowley yelled. It seemed way longer than it had taken him and Warlock to arrive to Experiment Room 11, but fear had that effect.

“Of course I’m sure!”

_THIS LABORATORY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN THIRTY SECONDS. WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR TIME WITH US._

The door to outside was just in front of them.

_THIS LABORATORY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN TWENTY SECONDS. WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR TIME WITH US._

They exited the building and kept sprinting to clear the lawn before the countdown ended.

_THIS LABORATORY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN TEN SECONDS._

_NINE._

_EIGHT._

_SEVEN._

_SIX._

Crowley turned back to look at the laboratory.

_THREE._

_TWO._

_ONE._

The shockwave from the explosion swept both of them off their feet.

Crowley stared for a moment more, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“The Institution will send someone soon,” Aziraphale murmured. He pretended not to see Crowley standing up to run away. He always did.

People were already beginning to rush on the scene.

Warlock was nowhere to be seen.

Crowley shot a last glance to the smoking rubble.

* * *

“—explosion at the research centre outside of town. A spokesperson for the Institution of Law Enforcement and Heroics talked about a possible involvement of notorious villain, Anthony J. Crowley, in the explosion that destroyed one of the laboratories the Institution owns all around the capital. It’s unclear at this point if there have been victims, but—”

Crowley didn’t even jump when the journalist’s voice on TV was replaced by the shrill tone of his ringtone.

The screen in front of him changed to show a black background on which was the call notice, surrounded by moving flames. It had seemed a good idea at the time he had programmed it. Now the flames were an unwelcome reminder of something he already couldn’t forget.

 _Director Michael. Institution for Law Enforcement and Heroics,_ read the screen.

Great. Exactly what he needed.

He waved a hand and the poison ivy he kept in the living room shot a tendril to accept the call.

“What is the meaning of this gesture, Crowley?” the Director immediately attacked. “This isn’t your usual modus operandi.”

“Things didn’t go according to plan,” Crowley replied tiredly. He didn’t even have the force to hiss. Nor to be surprised at the Director’s call, now that he thought about it. She had never called him, not once since he had left the Institution. He didn’t even think he was listed on the phone book, but then again she was the Director of the Institution. Who knew what means she had at her disposal, and there lay the problem, didn’t it?

Not that Crowley had the mental capacity to think about that at the moment.

“What do you want?”

The Director’s face didn’t change. “The body count seems...unusual for you.”

“Things didn’t go according to plan.”

The Director’s lips curved into the smallest of smirks. “Really?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Crowley hissed. So he still had a few energies. Good to know.

“Are you waiting for your sidekick?”

Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Aziraphale had already blabbed.

He still was.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to have to wait for a long time, then.”

Crowley’s blood ran cold. That couldn’t mean—

“You killed a kid?” he asked, and even he was taken aback at how low and threatening his voice had gone. “Just because you couldn’t stop him? You—Those victims are on you, Director! You sentenced your own people to death just to stop a kid!”

“Don’t act so sentimental, Crowley,” the Director lectured. “It’s not becoming of you.”

“You are a monster!” Crowley almost yelled. He was on his feet, glaring at the screen and the Director’s smug face on it, yelling at her.

“I’m not a monster,” the Director said. “I’m a dinosaur!”

Crowley absolutely didn’t yelp. He absolutely didn’t topple the chair he had been seated in and himself with a backward jump. His heart absolutely didn’t skip a beat when he realized what the stegosaur on his TV screen meant.

“Warlock?” he couldn’t keep himself from asking.

The animal was replaced by a smiling boy in the blink of an eye. “Hey boss. Sorry for the scare.”

“No, you’re not,” Crowley grumbled as he picked himself up from the floor. He was smiling in spite of himself. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the Institution!” Warlock was smiling. Was he absolutely out of his mind?

“What are you doing there? Come back here!”

The boy huffed. “Can I at least bring the super secret plans I found? They could come in handy.”

Crowley waved a hand even before his mind processed the sentence. “Yeah, yeah. Just come back!”

“Great!” Warlock exclaimed, and then a guard was behind him.

“You! What are you doing in the Director’s study?”

“Oops. Gotta go,” the boy told Crowley, and then a literal albeit small dragon was snacking on the man.

“Warlock!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 10/03/2021 (date format DD/MM/YYYY): We're so sorry, life got in the way this week and we don't have Chapter four ready. However, we should be able to post it on next Wednesday, so stay tuned!


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